Grandfather
by Mrs Snowball
Summary: Miss Privet doesn't know how to cope with Dame Devin's horrible behaviour. She takes inspiration from an old relative.


**A/N: This is based on an idea that came to me while watching "Princess Charm School". It will contain spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet. **

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><p>Noblewomen weren't flawless. For all their airs and graces, for the way they thought their tiaras made them better people, they were just that – people. People weren't perfect. They had flaws, and they made mistakes. No one knew this better than Alexandra Privet. It was her job to teach those girls the airs and graces they were so proud of. But she knew they could never hide their true personality; especially if they were as despicable as Dame Devin.<p>

As she ascended the staircase to her private quarters, Alexandra fumed over the other woman's plan. Bulldozing the poorer parts of Gardenia! It was just... well, she'd said it herself, hadn't she? It was just disgraceful, and that wretched woman had blown it off like her words meant nothing! Not that Alexandra wasn't used to that...

_What would Grandfather have made of her? _She wondered to herself. _He'd have agreed with me, of course. He'd have put her in her place, noblewoman or not... Except she isn't even that, really, is she? What would she be if not for her family connections? She'd be no higher in status than I am, most likely!_

But Dame Devin _did _have family connections. Her daughter would soon be on the throne. Whatever Alexandra thought of her, it was better to keep it to herself. Keep her head down, and continue with her work. She owed it to her pupils, after all. Someone needed to teach them the proper skills, to install within them the proper confidence. _That _was her role, not criticizing people of much higher status than herself.

_But don't they need to be criticized, sometimes? Don't they need to be reminded of their duties? Grandfather knew that. He understood-_

She stopped. She'd reached her door.

Alexandra Privet's quarters were in the highest floor of the castle, in rooms that had originally belonged to the servants. When the old building was turned into a school, the developers had knocked down a few walls and turned those dingy little rooms into a bedroom, bathroom and what was originally a lounge. Except Alexandra had no need for a lounge – she appeared on television more often than she actually watched it – so she'd turned the place into a study. A huge desk took up most of the left wall, and the sofa and television were shoved into a far corner to make way for the many, many bookshelves. Most of the furniture had been here when Alexandra took up her position as headmistress. Barely anything in this room was actually hers, save for about a third of the books. And the paintings, of course.

The first thing Alexandra had done when she'd moved in was hang her paintings on every space she could find. She was not an art enthusiast, but these paintings were special. They reminded her of home, the place she'd loved and had to leave behind to make her way in the world. It was not a place her students would recognise. They would attach no significance to those purple mountains and gingerbread houses. None of her students had grown up with them, and Alexandra didn't think she would ever meet one who had. Her people were notoriously quiet, and she could not blame them; Gardenia was certainly different to what they were used to. Sometimes the paintings depressed her; they reminded her of how alone she was. But, more often than not, they inspired her. They reminded her of the way she'd been brought up; the lessons that had worked so well for her and which, in turn, she wanted to pass on to her students. However much she missed it, her kingdom had inspired her to take this job.

The most important painting of all hung over her desk, and it was particularly striking because it was the only one which wasn't a landscape. As she sat on her desk chair, she found herself looking up at the person who'd inspired her the most.

"Hello, Grandfather," she muttered.

He didn't reply. He never would; the man had died when Alexandra was thirteen. But he'd had plenty of time to teach her what was really important. He'd taught her about honour, respect and above all, dignity. About bravery, and doing what was right even when the odds were against you, and it stuck with his granddaughter because he'd actually done it. He was proof that these lessons worked.

The incident at the palace slipped into her mind again.

"You wouldn't have let her, would you, Grandfather?" she asked the portrait. "You wouldn't have stood for such a horrible thing, would you?"

Of course he wouldn't. He'd devoted his life to saving peasants, and wasn't that what those poor people were, in the grand scheme of things? Peasants, going by a different name?

"What could I have done? She's not like the royalty we have at home. She doesn't listen. She's _impossible!_ If I'd made a fuss... well, I'm not like you. I'm not a hero. I could lose my job! I could lose everything I've worked for, and how would I manage then?"

She sighed, and when she spoke again, she was almost pleading.

"What could I possibly have done, Grandfather?"

Major Robert Mint remained silent. He stared down at his granddaughter with that proud, fixed gaze she was so familiar with. He'd always had that sense of pride about him, right up until the end of his life, and the artist had captured it perfectly. And why shouldn't he be proud? Look at all he'd achieved! Her family had been respected back in Parthenia and now... well...

_Oh, and you haven't achieved anything, Alexandra? You came here, you adapted – successfully, might I add – and you changed girls' lives. Look at Blair Willows. You've given her the chance to improve her family's life! Is that any less important than saving peasants, in the grand scheme of things? Are you any less noble?_

She remembered what she was here for; to turn these girls into princesses. That, at least, was something she could do.

"Doing my duty," she sighed. "Right, Grandfather?"

More silence, but that didn't matter. "Do your duty" was the most important philosophy in the Major's life; so important, in fact, that he'd drilled it into his family. It was one of the many lessons Alexandra had grown up with, one of the many she'd brought with her from that glorious old kingdom with its peppermint trees and gingerbread houses, and one of the many she passed onto her students. Do your duty, and don't be afraid to do it. That was what she'd do now, and she knew her grandfather would understand.

Alexandra stood up and made her way to her bedroom. She ought to get a good night's sleep; after all, she had a big day tomorrow.


End file.
